Chapter 1 Christmas

Colby finished arranging lights—gold and white and twinkling—across a bookshelf. Felt Jason's height and weight and action-hero presence arriving beside him. Turned and put an arm around his other half's waist, fitting their bodies together. "I like the color. It's a warm sort of gold. If that makes sense."

"It does." Jason dropped a kiss above Colby's right eyebrow, casual and affectionate and therefore miraculous. "What do you think of the stairs?"

Colby looked. The holiday garland wreathed its way up the bannister, green leaves and holly and small shimmering lights; two decorative reindeer, sculpted in metal and flowing lines, held a conversation on the lowest step, off to one side. Jason had set them out, humming carols under his breath. Colby's laptop had been playing some nineteen-fifties holiday classics, though it'd stopped a bit ago. He'd been listening to the rain.

Cinnamon and pine and roasted chestnut scents wafted. Coffee and freshly-baked sugar cookies waited in the kitchen. They hadn't got a tree yet, though that'd been the plan for the afternoon; small old-fashioned lanterns glowed and glass jars of pinecones perched on shelves and a delicate spray of bronze snowflakes cavorted around the window. The front door wore a holiday-steampunk wreath, full of small gears and toy-workshop tools in bronze and dark green and crimson and deep gold.

The front door. Their front door. Their home, here in London. Himself and Jason, because Jason's workout equipment and fantasy roleplaying game manuals and massive shoulders had moved in. Himself and Jason, because they'd fallen in love on set and off, through characters and love scenes and afternoons spent running lines and shared book recommendations. Because Jason had stayed with him when he'd been injured, and Colby had told that enormous kind heart a few secrets he'd never shared with anyone, and he and Jason had each other, now.

Like the holidays, he thought. Every day.

He leaned against Jason, secure in the knowledge of happiness. "I love it."

"I love you." Jason touched a finger to Colby's cheek; Colby promptly kissed the fingertip. Jason went on, "Not sure you want to go out and get a tree in this? I know you love rain, but this feels like a weather wizard's working out frustrations."

"Welcome to England in December. Laurie wants to know my mince pie recipe, so we can find and practice that instead, and acquire a tree when there isn't a deluge. It's been at least two years since I've made those." Sir Laurence Taylor apparently liked to cook, especially sweets, and cheerfully texted at random times to send pictures or ask questions. Colby occasionally looked at the name of that venerable acting legend popping up on his phone, and then had to sit down and remind himself that this was real.

He'd worked with other actors, with big names, before. Sir Laurence was the sort of name that the other big names murmured about, with awe.

They'd been lucky to have him on Steadfast at all, much less in the significant role of Colby's on-screen father. And somehow he'd decided that Colby needed a friend, or at least perhaps they both needed someone to talk to about Shakespeare and sticky toffee pudding.

"Not sure I've ever had a real mince pie." Jason had become sidetracked by traditional holiday foods. "It's got…raisins?"

"And currants, and apples, and mixed peel, and in my version brandy and a bourbon cream sauce. I'm absolutely going to need a new suit fitting before our premiere. Speaking of, did you see Jill's text?"

"About meeting up whenever we're back in LA to see my family? Yeah. I'll check with Mom tonight and we can figure out the timing." Jason's hands snuck beneath Colby's jumper, under violet knit, resting over bared skin. "You feel nice."

"I've put on weight."

"Nice," Jason repeated, with some emphasis; Colby knew perfectly well that those big soulful brown eyes worried. Jason had never liked how thin he'd been, back when he'd kept forgetting to eat and hadn't bothered cooking much and hid cold weary bones under layers of shirts and scarves and armor.

"You want me to make lunch? Something with stuffed peppers and sweet potatoes, maybe? Something easy."

"I do love it when you cook for us." He did. Jason was in fact an excellent cook, having grown up with a mother and grandmother who held very loud Italian opinions about sauces and risotto and garlic. Jason had, before Colby, got out of the habit of making anything, living alone and single in Los Angeles and not going to the trouble; but he'd always liked cooking for partners, he'd said, if someone wanted him to, and the hint of bashful embarrassed hope had gone straight to Colby's heart and woven gold into all the cracks.

They tended to cook together, these days.

He tucked his face into Jason's neck for a moment. "You smell like pine needles and guava."

"The first part's your candles. Also you know I borrowed your soap, in the shower. You were there. Mine's almost out."

"We should do some shopping. And I was still a bit fuzzy after all the magnificent sex. You're lucky I was coherent enough for proper sentence structure. If I was. Did you say something about icing sugar, or did I?"

"You did. Like being decorated, you said. Lots of white splashes all over you. And cream. Can I decorate you some more?"

"Yes," Colby said, and curled a finger around a belt-loop of Jason's jeans. "Right now? Right here?"

Jason visibly considered—and liked—this suggestion. But glanced around. "The curtains are open. And those reindeer are watching."

"The reindeer are happy you're here. And we're on the first—sorry, I'll try to remember to speak American—second floor. And there're lights and snowflakes all over the windows. Could you perhaps do something with that ribbon and my wrists?"

"Sometimes you are an exhibitionist," Jason said. "I mean, not seriously. You wouldn't and I wouldn't. But kinda. You like thinking about it. Me putting you on your knees in the middle of the living room, or getting you off in the men's room after that planetarium show, my hand on your cock and my fingers in your mouth, keeping you quiet…"

"That one was your idea," Colby protested. "I looked too happy, you said. Irresistible."

"Like now." Jason tugged at his jumper; Colby lifted arms so Jason could peel it off over his head. "Secretly kinky. Into the reindeer watching. Telling me to tie you up with holiday ribbon. Adorable innocent Colby Kent. No one'd ever believe it."

"I'm not innocent." He tried for a scowl, didn't mean it in the least, gave up. "It's just what people think. You know I'm not."

"You're you." Jason traced a line along Colby's collarbone and chest: down to one nipple, taut and eager. Then began playing with it: tugging, teasing, pinching. "My cream puff."

Colby whimpered out loud, shameless and thrilled. His trousers felt tighter, arousal building.

"On your knees, like you want," Jason said, and Colby knelt, gazing up, devout and willing.

Jason stepped away, picked up a coil of ribbon—dark red and glittering gold, slightly stiff edges for decorative shaping and bows, several inches wide—and came back. Colby watched him.

Jason was so beautiful. Tall and large and thoughtful, he filled up a room simply by existing: not because he had any particular need to take over or prove himself, but because he was broad and generous and a shield for others. Colby loved him and would jump in front of a runaway sleigh for him and would forever readily kneel for him, trusting Jason with everything he was.

He thought suddenly that perhaps Jason needed to know that; perhaps Jason needed some reassurance as well. Jason did a lot of taking care of him, and had hung lights and put up garlands without complaint, and now was indulging Colby's mildly kinky fantasies, just because Colby had asked.

Jason brushed the end of the ribbon across Colby's throat, down his bare chest, over tingling electric skin. The whisper of it quivered bone-deep. "How far do you want me to take this? Weather check."

"Anything you want," Colby said. "My wrists, my throat…my, er, cock…I'm yours. Jason…you know you don't have to just, er, agree to things I say? If you'd rather not."

Jason's eyebrows went up. The ribbon kissed Colby's shoulder. "You think I don't want to do this?"

"I only meant…you do so much, and…if you ever don't want to…you're already so very much everything I need. I thought I should tell you that. Er. More often. If I haven't been."

Jason put out the other hand. Lifted Colby's chin. "Trying to tell me you need to hear it more?"

"What? Oh—but no. I really am talking about you. If there were something you wanted, you'd tell me, wouldn't you? I'd like to know."

"Colby…" Jason's hand tightened a fraction, holding him, making him look up. "I would. I'm happy. You don't have to worry about not doing enough."

"I just want to know," Colby offered, heart in the words, in his throat, fluttering and trapped amid pleasure and love.

"You're everything I want," Jason said, gazing down at him; and the rain leapt and clamored against the windowpane, a musical underscore.

* * * *

Jason, standing in the living room with lantern-light and candle glow and holiday cheer at his back, said it again: "You're what I want." He looped ribbon around the back of Colby's neck as he said the words; deep red and dark gold shone against fair skin. The single dark freckle over Colby's collarbone winked at him, familiar and beloved.

He brushed a thumb over it. "You believe me, right?"

"Yes." Colby's smile was a carol, an unfurling joy, a gift. "I do. I'm only asking."

"I love you. I want to be right here, with you, doing this. Even with the reindeer." He meant every word. Himself, here with Colby. Living with Colby. Every day, every minute, was a celebration.

Arousal ached and pooled in his bones, under his skin, in the push of his dick against boxers and jeans. Low and hot, it spread out and drew him on and made him want to bury himself in Colby's pretty mouth and stroke Colby's hair and give Colby the same shuddering glorious pleasure.

Colby, he noticed, was also unmistakably aroused: kneeling, shirtless, cock visibly tenting slim blue pants.

He said, "You said anything I want. I want you. Sound good?"

"Yes, please." Colby's eyes—those famous movie-poster eyes, happy now in a way that only Jason got to see—glinted extra-blue with anticipation. His hair, dark and wavy and stylishly rumpled, was long enough to fall over the ribbon when Jason let it drape around the back of his neck. "I love you."

"Love you. Hold out your arms?"

Colby did. Jason took the long dangling ends and wove them around slender wrists, binding tightly but tucking the ends into Colby's fingers. "Let go if you need to."

"I will. May I, ah…"

"You know you can come like this," Jason agreed. "Just from this, sucking my cock, on your knees, being so good for me, all mine."

Colby's breath caught. Arms bound in ribbon, framed by window snowflakes and twinkling lights and rain, he was a present, an artwork, a holiday delight. "Oh yes."

"I want you," Jason told him, "to come in your pants, right here, with the curtains open—" No one'd be able to see anything, anyway, between the decorations and the storm and the shining lights. "The way you want. All tied up, on your knees, knowing you're on display, getting off on that. Because you like that, don't you? Me claiming you, making you know it, knowing I want you and I'd show everyone, if you wanted that."

He wouldn't and Colby wouldn't, not in real life; aside from the obvious publicity considerations, Colby wouldn't want to feel that exposed, and had said so. But the fantasy of it was a turn-on, and Jason had a decent idea about why.

Colby loved feeling loved. Being chosen, being cherished. Being wanted by someone, openly and passionately. Those wide eyes had always wanted that: lonely and scared and cold, Colby'd needed someone to tell him he was good enough, and desired, and beloved.

"Yes," Colby whispered. "Please, Jason…please make me yours." His back arched, hips rocking futilely against air. "I want to come like this, please. What you said."

"Say it for me," Jason tested. That one might or might not work; for someone with decidedly X-rated fantasies, Colby still got embarrassed sometimes when putting them into words. He had, after all, spent thirty years being adorable and precious and harmless for the world, on camera and doing press; the persona was real, to an extent.

Colby's cheeks went pink. "Oh good heavens…Jason…"

"You don't have to. Just wondering if you would."

"Er…" Colby took a deep breath, looked up at Jason, licked his lips. Shifted wrists in their bonds, making the ribbon tug and slide at his neck. "Please, ah, fuck my mouth while I'm on my knees for you, until I…come in my pants? All over myself? Sir."

"Jesus," Jason said inadvertently.

Colby glanced down at Christmas-colored ribbon, and then over Jason's shoulder at a seasonal snowglobe, and didn't bother suppressing the giggle.

"Okay, yeah, perfect choice of words, I got it," Jason sighed, and unzipped his jeans and drew himself out, and couldn't help a groan of relief. His dick, heavy and full and flushed with need, pulsed in his grip. "You just stay right there and open that sweet mouth for me."

Colby did, happily. Jason took himself in hand and rubbed the head over Colby's lips: decadent and filthy, smearing trickles of wetness. "You want this? Show me."

Colby blushed more but began licking at him, looking up hopefully, tongue eager and hot against Jason's tip.

"Good," Jason said, "so good, Colby, I love you," and shoved himself forward, length and girth sinking into Colby's mouth, pushing down into his throat.

Colby moaned around the invasion, and his hips jerked. The front of his pants was growing damp.

Jason said, "All mine, just the way you like, the way I like," and pulled back and thrust in again, hands holding Colby's head, fingers buried in soft hair. Himself taking charge, not Colby, because Colby loved being his so inarguably, beyond question.

But Colby was the one in control. One tap of bound hands at Jason's leg would stop everything, because Colby had asked for this and needed it, because Jason's heart and body and soul belonged to Colby Kent and always would.

So he'd do anything Colby asked. Because he was Colby's. Here to give Colby pleasure, for the rest of their lives.

He thrust harder in the wake of that thought, that recognition. Instinctive reaction, inadvertent.

Colby took it, eyes full of joy. Surrender laced every long line of his body: dreamy, blissful, secured by Jason's hands and orders and command of him. His lips were wet and pink, and his eyelashes were damp too, darker and framing luscious blue.

Jason whispered, "I want you, Colby, I love you," and fucked his mouth, used his mouth, made him feel it: all the way to the hilt, Colby's lips at the base and Colby's throat working around him. So good, so incredible—heat and sweetness and the heady intoxicating knowledge that Colby wanted this, wanted him—

Colby's entire body quivered, tightening. His hips moved, pleaded, begged mutely; his head rested in Jason's hands, Jason's support.

"My Colby," Jason breathed, "you love this, don't you? Being mine—you want to get off just like this, you're gonna come when I do, aren't you, baby—gonna come because I do, and you love feeling it—"

And, gazing down at the man he loved, the words echoing in both their ears, he couldn't hold back. The rush swept up and broke over him like the profound blue pleasure in Colby's eyes, and Jason groaned as his body stiffened and grew sharp with ecstasy and spilled wave after wave down Colby's throat—

Colby's body tensed. His eyes became lost in splendor: someplace far-off, full of light and stars. He came with Jason's cock stuffing him full, last spurts of Jason's climax still dwindling; he came in his pants, as Jason'd instructed, making a mess of himself and his tidy slim-fit slacks. He tried to swallow, and to swallow again, mouth stretched around Jason's girth, wet and sloppy with Jason's release.

Jason pulled back. Let him breathe. Caught him, as Colby wobbled on his knees.

Jason knelt too, steadying him; and took the loop of ribbon from Colby's lax fingers and tenderly unwound it all, undoing restraints; and then just flopped down on the rug and pulled Colby over atop him, into his arms.

Colby coughed, cleared his throat, nuzzled his face into Jason's chest like a happy kitten, and finally looked up. His legs were long and clumsy and tangled with Jason's, and the wetness of his pants soaked into Jason's thigh. "Well…I'd say…we've discovered a stupendous use for holiday ribbon."

"Wonder what we could do with a candy cane." He rubbed Colby's back. "I like your kinky sex fantasies. Was that one good for you?"

Colby laughed, mostly out of sheer overflowing joy, Jason thought, rather than because anything'd been funny. "Marvelous. Lights and snowflakes, inside my bones. Sparkling everywhere. Peppermint, all cool and bright…I could do something with chocolate, once I'm not quite so sticky…."

"You do love it." Jason twirled a wave of Colby's hair around a finger, tugged, let go. "You love me making you get all messy. Coming all over yourself like that. So sweet and so fucking filthy. So fucking awesome."

Colby batted eyelashes at him. "Who, me? I'm the innocent precious half of this relationship. No matter what the reindeer tell you. Mince pies and peppermint chocolate mousse, after we clean up?" His body was warm and heavy and satisfied, draped over Jason's on their floor, in the middle of the rug.

"The reindeer have seen some things," Jason said. "We all love you." He ran a hand through Colby's hair again.

In the windows, decorative snowflakes shimmered; outside, in the city, rain dripped and leapt and splashed. Crimson and gold ribbon lay coiled and gleaming beside them, and pinecones overflowed a basket near the door, and Colby was happy and well-loved. Contentment sat on Jason's bones and twinkled like sugar crystals.

He added, "My mom's pastry chef does a chocolate mint pie, at the restaurant; I don't know her exact recipe, but I've got a pretty good idea, if you want to try to recreate it?" and Colby's smile outshone the lights.